


somehow this feeling just grows and grows

by allmywill



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Attraction, Best Friends, Dreams, M/M, Paranormal, Rewrite, Romance, kinda sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmywill/pseuds/allmywill
Summary: Nick thinks of him. He wonders if he feels the same; this strange attraction that he can’t seem to chase, even in his dreams.
Relationships: Nick Rhodes/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	somehow this feeling just grows and grows

**Author's Note:**

> another rewrite of an old fic. i think this suits them much better than the other pairing! 
> 
> inspired by Julie London’s recording of The More I See You. i recommend listening to it while reading!

Again, and again, and again, Nick is falling. He falls deeper each time. The falling never stops, he only gets further within his own head.

Nick climbs into bed that night with a heavy head. Exhaustion eases his lids closed; working so much is taxing. His body melts into the bed, grateful for its familiarity and softness. It doesn't take long before he ascends into sweet, sweet dreamland.

Nigel is at the forefront of his brain, always floating about his conscious mind. He always is, but he's also in his subconscious. Nick sees him in his sleep. Nearly every single night, his face lights up the space behind his eyelids. He's there, never late, seldom absent from his mind during slumber.

The dreams don’t make much sense. Nick sees him every day, why does his mind need so much of him? He finds himself confused when he awakes, not knowing if the pictures his brain creates are real or just a beautiful fabrication.

In tonight's wonderful picturesque vision...

_The sky is illuminated by the waxing moon. Midnight is approaching, and they're in an abandoned house together._

_Nigel is holding a dimming torch in one hand, Nick’s hand in the other. Nick can feel the sensation of skin on skin, so intoxicating, and so real. The old wooden floorboards are dusty and scratched; far from immaculate. They must be ancient. They groan beneath their feet as they make slow, deliberate steps forward._

_Nick looks to his best friend. The darkness of the house makes it difficult to see his face, but he can just make out his outline. He would know John in the brightest sunlight or the deepest, darkest night. His head turns and he looks to Nick, shining the flashlight up towards the cracked ceiling. It seems brighter now._

_"There's something about abandoned places that I like," Nigel begins. "They feel like another world. The present doesn't matter when you're immersed in the beauty of the past."_

_Nick leans in so he can see his face better. Their hands are still intertwined, fingers in a lover's tangle. But they’re not... right? "That's not something you'd say," he quips. His voice sounds like it's echoing, and perhaps it is._

_"Maybe not, but does it matter?" It's a rhetorical question. "Nothing else matters, just us. You and me." Nigel smiles and his face blurs at the edges._

_His glasses seem to disappear. What is going on?_

_Nick feels him squeeze his hand, solid and ever so real. Then he lets go. He watches him place the torch on a dirty stool, covered in cobwebs and dust. God knows only how long it's been since anyone has sat down on it._

_Nigel stands before him, frozen. Nick is almost afraid the dream is over, before he reaches out and places his hands on either side of his face. They're big and warm. "Just you and me," he repeats, softer this time._

_His voice is like honey. Nick reckons he could listen all night. All day. Forever. "Is this real?" he asks, testing the waters._

_"Why do you ask that?" Nigel cocks an eye._

_He looks into his eyes, and there's that old falling feeling again. He thinks he's floating. He probably is. "Because I'm not sure," Nick replies simply._

_"It's real if you want it to be," is all Nigel says, before he lets go of Nick’s face and reaches for the torch again. "Now, let's go explore."_

_Nick is nodding his head before he even processes the words. Of course he wants it to be real. Why wouldn't he? He follows Nigel through what was probably a dining room, then another little room. A living room? A sitting room? Perhaps they called it a parlor back then._

_The wallpaper is peeling and chipping; dirty fragments of the floral design line the floor along the wall. Back in the day, they were vibrant yellow sunflowers, but after years of neglect, they have sadly paled and faded away. As for the rest of the space: the downstairs has little furniture left behind, only the odd stool and a mangled looking side table remains. The house appears to be stripped of anything of value. It’s quite dreary._

_Nick thinks about what Nigel said moments ago. He is certainly immersed in the past, as he imagines what happened here many years ago. Who lived here? And why did they leave this place behind? More importantly, are they here right now, watching them walk around their home from the afterlife? Nick shivers, his skin erupting in goosebumps. He brushes his fingertips along his arms and they fade away. Is this real?_

_The kitchen looks no better than the rest of the place—everything destroyed. The old sink is full of what appears to be broken wine glasses, the sharp splinters dangerous. All of the cabinets are either open or broken off their hinges, the wood pieces littering the floor. Tattered lacy curtains cover a shattered window; once, many moons ago, perhaps they were pristine. There's so much dirt and dust, it's hard to imagine someone ever cooking a meal here._

_Nick can hear Nigel’s careful footsteps behind him, the crunch of glass accompanying them. He turns around. He wants to say a million things to this version of him, wants to pour his heart out right here and now, in this derelict house. "Watch the glass, Nigel," is the only thing that makes it past his lips though._

_Nigel stops in his tracks. "I'm okay, Nick," he reassures, shining the torch back up at the ceiling again. He makes his way to his side, the crunching getting louder the closer he gets. "You worry about me too much."_

_"I just care about you. You know that." Nick finds it surprisingly easy to look him in the eye. Maybe it’s because he’s without glasses. He notices how they're so bright and full of life, even in the dim light, somehow. He wonders why this feels so strange, so surreal._

_But this is real... right?_

_Nigel is smiling at him again. Nick decides he doesn't care about anything else. This is all he wants, everything he's ever wanted, somehow. A warm feeling spreads through him like wildfire, heating his coldest winters. He reaches out to touch Nigel, the back of his hand against his cheek. He's warm. Real. Beautiful. His beloved Nigel._

I love you, _he thinks to himself. He doesn't voice it, but he's never wanted to more._

_"I know you do." Nigel melts into his touch, like some meek baby animal. He seems fragile, like the glass covering the floor._

_Nick stares for a few moments, though it feels like a few lifetimes. Time is all strange and twisted. He tilts his head, eyes still fixed on Nigel. "I want to see the upstairs."_

_"Me too."_

_"Come with me."_

_He lets his hand drop from his face, missing the warmth immediately. He follows Nigel’s tall form to the staircase: it looks sturdy, but he's worried it may not support the two of them at the same time. They stand, shoulder to shoulder, at the bottom. The house then shifts, emitting a creaking sound that catches Nick off guard. His heart begins to race._

_Nick takes a deep breath. "I'll go first."_

_"It'll be fine, Nick," Nigel reassures. He shines the light up each step, checking them one by one. "They're intact, see? No rotting. You’re small and cute, it’ll be alright."_

_"Okay, here goes." Nick puts one foot on the first step, then turns to Nigel and holds out an empty hand._

_Nigel grins and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers together once more. They make their way up the ancient staircase, each step sighing with their weight. When they reach the second floor, Nigel visibly shivers. It feels much colder than first floor does. Eerie, too._

_Their hands stay together, for it is as if they are both afraid what will happen if they part. Nick forgets to enjoy it throughly, as he's too entranced in what remains before his eyes._

_A master bedroom, empty of furniture, but one thing has been left behind. It sits in the middle of the room, and it looks as though it's the only item in the entire house that's worth anything: a piano. A beautiful polished wooden piano, in the middle of a house that has clearly been abandoned for many years. Why?_

_Nigel shines the light on it. "Look..." his voice seems to fade, taken by a gust of wind._

_The two of them approach the piano, keeping their footsteps soft on the old floor. Nick notices how clean it is; not a single speck of dust is evident on the instrument. There's a beam of moonlight coming through another cracked window. It helps to reveal more of its shiny surface. Something isn't right, but could it be wrong, when it’s so beautiful?_

_"Nigel," Nick starts, slight panic in his voice. "I think we should get out of here."_

_Nigel then does something Nick doesn't expect him to do: he turns the torch off. The room grows darker, faint moonlight through the windows being the only source of light now._

_"Nigel? What are—" Nick is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the piano keys being struck. At first, the sound is violent and random, a wild jumble of notes all at once. It then begins to transform into a beautiful song, some sad lulling melody that Sinatra probably crooned to a transfixed audience back in the day._

_Nigel discards the lightless torch, lifts their connected hands, then brings Nick in by the waist. Before he can utter a word, they're dancing around the room, twirling and gliding across the floor like they were born to do so. He can't stop his feet from moving, and can't take his eyes off of Nigel’s. He feels impossibly warm now. A fever? Nick wishes he knew._

_Time thickens akin to molasses, slow and decadent. Nigel starts to hum along to the song the piano is playing on its own, then lyrics escape his blurry lips._

_"The more I see you, the more I want you..."_

Nick jolts awake, sitting up abruptly in bed. He's clutching the sheets, they're balled up in both of his fists. He blinks his eyes as a sigh escapes his lips. In the middle of the night in his dark bedroom, he wishes Nigel were here with him.

Why did he think that dream was real? And why had it been so unsettling, yet so enjoyable at the same time?

He dreams of him almost every night, but this time, it felt more real. Nick feels odd. He never realized he felt so deeply for his best friend. He never realized just how badly he wants to hold his hand until now. He wouldn’t mind kissing him, either. What?

Each night that Nigel haunts his dreams, he falls a little. Again, and again, and again. It never stops. He just keeps falling. He’s really in it now.

He thinks of calling him. Maybe his voice would help him fall back asleep again. He decides against it, nestling back down into his sheets again.

Nick thinks of him. He wonders if he feels the same; this strange attraction that he can’t seem to chase, even in his dreams.


End file.
